Just My Undivided Honesty
by UncannyGirl
Summary: This is a random thought I had one night, when I was supposed to be studying. Can't really summarize something I'm still piecing together, so just read to find out. Thanks.


_Just My Undivided Honesty

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Note: Don't know where I'm going with this. Can't promise it'll be much, but hopefully it'll get some thoughts out of my crammed up head. Trying to get some things off my mind, or my mind off some things. Either way. Thanks for listening. Let me know if I have something worth pursuing or if I need to start over with something new. Thanks for any input.

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Chapter One

_Introduction: Save Me, From Myself

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I can't remember when exactly it happened. I've tried to pinpoint the moment, the exact hour and minute in which I broke. Or even to narrow it down to an action or event that caused a snap, my breaking threshold, if you will. Sounds funny, though. For a person to be broken and not know how, when , or why. You would think, not being whole, not feeling right within your own life, would be an important enough moment in one's life to warrant attention. Some caring thought or memory. The problem with that theory? You're assuming someone cares enough to notice. You're assuming _I_ care enough to notice. You'd be tragically wrong.

Don't get me wrong, Spencer Carlin does not want, seek, nor condone pity and/or sympathy from anyone. You can keep it, shove it up your ass, or choke on it. Whatever tickles your boat or floats your fancy. I just don't need it.

But where to begin ...

Let's see. Well, like I mentioned, I don't know when exactly I broke. After much reflection on my life and my actions, I truly believe it was inevitable. I think its part of who I am. It's like any other childhood event. It has shaped me and molded me into the bastardly, son of a gun I am today.

Can't say I'd change it, given the opportunity. Actually, I don't know if I could live properly without the lost, draining void it leaves me with. It drains me of emotions and patience. I don't like wasting time and effort. It is exactly that, a waste. I also find it a waste to needlessly stress or fear things. This is why I could jump out of a plane without a parachute just as easily as with one. Ad in those handful of thrills are the few times when I get to feel. Feel something other than this numbness. But, please don't think of me as suicidal. In no way, shape, or form.

It's also that void and numbness that causes me to be genuinely honest. Before you get confused, let me explain:

So many people live in these false, little worlds of pretense and facades. They are so scared that things aren't as peachy keen, neat, and orderly as they pretend it is that they are scared shitless when someone comes along, blaring all these blatant truths and facts. The raw, blunt truth is what I live for, though. Not the rude, tact-less truths that are yelled across a made-up stage on some talk show or at your local pub. No, I mean the soul-crushing, heart-wrenching truths that are whispered in the night after too many drinks or after months of lies and hurtful actions. The truths that so many run from, I revel in.

Because it is in those few moments of brutal, plain honesty that you learn what kind of person you are. It is in those moments, when you still feel like you've been skinned alive, that you act on your basic instincts. The ones that you can't pretend, the ones that just happen. Those moments, when you don't have enough time to think how people while react. In those moments, you don't care how you will be judged, you only act. Do you beat that person who just danced all over your vulnerable heart?? Do you walk away from the relationship you've been building and from the person who has made you feel whole for the past 5 years?? Do you kill that bastard that just hurt your sister?? Only you know, in those few, compromising moments.

But seriously. Let's move on.

There are a few other things I have also always known about myself. First, I always knew that I was never a child. I never liked the way children act, and I was always wise for my years. This is due to the fact that I think way too much. Every minute aspect of things interests me until I figure out how it works. This has left me too mature for my own good. Next, I've always felt a keen attraction to both sexes . You could just as easily catch me behind the bleachers with the captain of the football team, or the head cheerleader, who ever looked hotter in their uniform that particular day. Although honestly, I prefer someone who could hold my attention, mentally. Tight shirts and short skirts can only take you so far before you get bored to death. And lastly, there has always been something wrong with me. In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions, it's like an object that's been dropped and broken. If it's broken into enough pieces, you never find them all. And if you try to repair it, there's always holes. That's me. I was broken and I've lost parts of myself. I try to fix it, but there's always holes, missing pieces. And I've been lost ever since.

One good thing that has come out of this is I have found my thoughts to truly be my best friend. They are both my curse and my savior. It is my thoughts that get me through the long and lonely nights, when I contemplate so many things that I forget, for a couple moments at a time, that it is just me, alone in this huge bed. However, it is also because of my thoughts that I lie there, alone in bed, having out-thought a potential friend, thinking that they would only screw me over in the end. In the end of what, exactly?? Who knows, since I ended the relationship before it even had a chance to begin.

But all this leads to my current predicament. And a hell of a situation it is. I think we should take a trip down memory lane and maybe we could figure out why exactly I have my girlfriend sitting with me, on the ledge of this penthouse hotel room window, with this blood, these tears and this gun blurring my thoughts.

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_Two years earlier ..._

The first day of college found me in my dorm room, kicking out my newly acquainted roommate. Her idea of helpful suggestions was to dismiss my girl of the hour and point out the bold print guidelines of the bible.. I told her, as my foot was connecting with her ribs, in no uncertain terms, that if God really wanted to save me, He wouldn't have left me broken and alone all these years. And since He knows where I live, He obviously was in no rush to save me from myself.

That's how I ended up living off campus. It was actually the best thing that could've happened to me. I tried to find a roommate, but with no luck. That is what landed me in a 10x10 one room studio that was just large enough for my prison-like set-up. Don't get me wrong, I like the things I own, there just isn't a lot of it. I opted for the best full-size money could possibly put together. Other than that, there's my desk for my comp and my beloved bookshelf. What else could you need??

This was all fine and great. Until she crashed into my life. When I say crashed, I mean head first bum rush. Well, she ran into me in the hall and nearly took me out. OK, I'm slightly dramatic. Creative license, and this is my story. Deal.

Words were lost. Not because of her beauty, though she was down right gorgeous. It wasn't her sex appeal, though I could've shoved her against the elevator and fucked her on the spot. And it wasn't her attitude, though she looked like she was ready to rumble. No, none of those things were the cause of my muted state.

Her eyes. They were magic. They were breath-taking, earth shattering. They were the glowing lights that kept me up at night, knowing nothing ever could outshine her eyes.

She held my gaze, and with her amazing, telling eyes, I could see more than she could ever hope to let one person know. I wonder, now, if she knows all that she let slip with that glare. I wonder if she knows how completely I read her in that instant. How far and fast I fell for her. I doubt it.

I barely have time to recover before she's storming down the stairs, a whisper of an apology lingering in the space that she occupied only moments before. But more strong than the whispered apology was the tinge of vanilla and honey in the air. Her smell. Her mouth-watering, life changing aroma. I craved it immediately. I needed more.

I was fucked. I was the pathetic meth junkie, needing a hit but having no money to bargain with.

I needed to see her, but I don't know anything about her. Not the slightest idea of a name, where she lived in this massive over-populated housing complex, and no clue as to whether she even registered me as a blip on her radar.

I was fucked. But, what else is new??


End file.
